


Music of the Soul

by gypsygrrl420



Series: Music Box [1]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Kensei being an idiot, M/M, OC-But Not as a Romantic Interest, Prompt Fill, Shuuhei left the Gotei
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1963785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsygrrl420/pseuds/gypsygrrl420
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The discovery of a left-behind possession leads Kensei to realize that he was an idiot for chasing his fukutaicho away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Music of the Soul

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rii no Ame](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Rii+no+Ame).



Despite its care-worn appearance, the box currently sitting in the middle of his desk was no cheaply fashioned thing one could simply pick up at one of the markets in Rukongai—or even in the more exclusive shops of the Seireitei. Fine-grained wood shimmered rich red-gold in the late afternoon sun slanting through the window behind the Vizard’s desk, worn satin-smooth over time so that the design carved into the solid surface had been softened and blurred to near-invisibility.

With a delicacy that would surprise all but those few closest to him, the big Vizard captain traced the faint suggestion of linking chains patterning the edges of the box’s surface with a blunt fingertip, amber eyes hooding when he found the distinctive family crest entwined within the representation of his former fukutaicho’s rarely-seen shikai—an action he had repeated countless times over the past five years, ever since the box had come into his possession.

_A tentative tapping at the shoji, accompanied by a hesitantly cleared throat, dragged his attention from the seemingly endless stack of paperwork piled before him, and he looked up to see his newly appointed second standing nervously in the doorway of his office, holding a tiny box in one hand while avoiding his captain’s annoyed gaze._

_“What?”_

_The young man extended the hand holding the box. “I found this in Hisag—in_ my _new quarters, Taicho.”_

_A scowl appeared on the Vizard’s face at the mention of his former fukutaicho’s name, but he didn’t bother admonishing Hideki for the slip of the tongue, knowing it would be pointless to do so. For some reason Hisagi Shuuhei had been immensely popular among the officers of the division, and though his sudden departure had left the 9 th bewildered and—in more than one case—hurt, the men still looked upon the taciturn former-lieutenant with a reverence that bordered on near-worship. Kensei still didn’t understand it, nor did he try to._

_“I already told you that you were free to dispose of anything you found in there. Not like he’s around to care,” he said bluntly, and turned his attention back to his paperwork, expecting the matter to be settled. Hideki wasn’t the most imaginative of men, but after Mashiro’s childish tantrums and Hisagi’s cold, stony silences that had set his teeth on edge, he was looking forward to having a second who did his work and didn’t remind him of everything he had lost a hundred years before._

_Much to his surprise, Hideki ignored the dismissal._

_“Taicho,” he said firmly, and the Vizard bit back a growl of annoyance, glancing up to see the younger man had left the doorway and was now standing just on the other side of his desk, his dark eyes unflinching as he met his irritated captain’s gaze. “He carried this everywhere with him. I cannot, in good conscience, just throw away so prized a possession.”_

_The redhead—his hair wasn’t quite the bloody crimson of the annoying vice captain of the 6 th division nor the brilliant orange crowning the Kurosaki brat’s head, but somewhere in between—laid the box reverently upon his captain’s desk, square atop the pile of reports awaiting Kensei’s attention, and stepped back, hands tucked behind his back respectfully, watching the Vizard expectantly._

_The older man huffed out a breath, tossing his pen down and snatching up the box. “If it was so damned important he would have taken it with him when he ran off.”_

_“I found it wedged between the wall and the night table, like it had fallen and had been overlooked in his rush to leave.”_

_Beneath the calmly worded statement was an accusation—‘he left because you chased him off, told him he wasn’t worthy to be your vice captain’. Kensei didn’t need to hear the words, he’d seen the silent accusations in his mens’ eyes for weeks after Hisagi had departed under the cover of night, had heard echoes of his last conversation with his former lieutenant in his head for months while his Hollow screeched curses at him and Tachikaze radiated silent disapproval from the rocky spires of his Inner World. He’d told Hisagi that he had no use for a fukutaicho that feared his sword and himself, a fukutaicho that had been crippled by a monster who had destroyed so many lives in his quest for vengeance yet still spouted off the nonsense Tousen had indoctrinated him in even after he had discovered the truth about his precious captain. He’d told Hisagi that he was as good as gone, just as soon as he found a replacement—and when he’d come into his office the next morning he’d found a politely-worded recommendation that Muguruma-taicho look at his 3 rd seat as a candidate for the now-vacant position of lieutenant and a letter of resignation sitting on his desk, and no sign of Hisagi anywhere within the division. In fact, he’d discovered within hours that his former vice-captain had left the Seireitei completely, disappearing into Rukongai and vanishing there as if he had never existed at all._

_Kensei shook off the recollection and looked away from his current lieutenant to reluctantly study the small box sitting innocuously amongst his paperwork. At first glance it didn’t look like much: the wood was a dull red-gold, worn with age and battered around the edges, small enough to fit in his palm and be concealed if he closed his fingers around it. But the longer he looked at it, the more he could pick out little details that indicated that it wasn’t some cheap little trinket easily acquired for a coin or two. The grain of the wood was very fine, even smudged as it was by months’ worth of grime and Hideki’s fingerprints, and the edges of the box looked to be carved—hesitantly he stroked a fingertip along the top and felt the worn pattern that had been etched into the surface, tracing the interlocking chains, pausing when he came to the distinctive crest of the Shiba clan nestled within the representation of his former fukutaicho’s shikai. A gift from a Shiba?_

_Though the clan had long ago fallen out of favor among the noble houses of Soul Society, their blood still ran as blue as the Kuchikis. What ties did Hisagi—a street rat from Rukongai—have to such a noble family that he would receive such a gift as this? For Kensei knew, now that he was actually_ studying _the box, that this was no meaningless trinket casually given._

_Completely forgetting about the young man standing on the other side of his desk, his fingers fell to the hasp holding the box closed and worked it open; it stuck for a moment, stubbornly refusing to yield to his blunt fingertips—Hisagi had such long, elegant fingers, slender and dexterous with a sword or a pen—then fell open, allowing him to lift the hinged lid. A slow, haunting melody poured forth, tinny-sounding as most music box songs tended to be, but still recognizable, and Kensei closed his eyes as the melancholy strains washed over him, soothing away the sharp edges of his irritation and easing down deep into his soul._

Alone in his office, the silver-haired Vizard eased open the lid of Hisagi’s music box and sank back into his chair, closing his eyes as he had done each and every time he had listened to the haunting melody composed by Ludwig von Beethoven two centuries ago, imaging the man whose soul was the embodiment of such a melancholy, beautiful song.

_‘This is what I hear when I look at you, Shuuhei.’_

The inscription on the inner surface of the lid was simply signed ‘Kaien’, but the lack of a family name didn’t prevent Kensei from figuring out who had gifted the music box to his former fukutaicho. Everyone knew who Shiba Kaien was, though only a very few had known that the long-deceased scion of the Shiba clan had once been romantically involved with Kensei’s former vice captain. A few casual inquires among high-ranking officers who had been close to Hisagi had netted the Vizard captain that gem of information, and ultimately led to him seated in the 13th division’s offices with a seemingly endless cup of tea and a Ukitake-taicho fairly radiating disappointment as he informed Kensei just who Hisagi Shuuhei really was beneath the composed, indifferent mask the younger man had used to protect himself.

Caring. Loyal. Protective. Idealistic. Generous to a fault. Stubborn. _Lost. Lonely though he won’t let anyone know how alone he feels._

Each and every word that had fallen from the sickly captain’s lips had struck the Vizard like a blow, delivered gently yet firmly in a tone that bespoke volumes of respect and regret.

He’d left the white-haired man in a daze, wandering aimlessly past his own division and finding himself in Rukongai, in the very district where he had first encountered Hisagi as a child and inspired the depth of loyalty that had led to Hisagi the brand himself with Kensei’s mark and ultimately fall into Tousen’s hands.

And it was on that day that he heard the laughter of children coming from around a corner and had followed it, wondering at the sound in a place that had long been devoid of any kind of cheer, stopping dead in his tracks at the view before him. A pack of ragged but clean children surrounded a tall, leanly built figure dressed in an unadorned dark yukata, clamoring for his attention, and while Kensei watched, a broad grin split that usually stern countenance and his ex-fukutaicho scooped one of the children into his arms, tossing the madly giggling child into the air while a chorus of “Me too!” and “Me next”s filled the air around them. He looked on as the child—a little girl no older than four or five—whispered something in Hisagi’s ear, and the young man seemed to ponder her words seriously for a moment while the other children fell silently expectant, and after a moment that dark, shaggy head nodded, another smile breaking loose as he set the little girl on her feet and she grabbed his hand, a soft smile flitting about his lips as the children cheered. And then they were gone, the pack of kids dragging his former lieutenant away down the street with them, their excited chattering dying away by slow degrees as the Vizard stood rooted in place, a pang of loss biting deep as he gazed at the corner where they had disappeared from view.

Kensei shook off the memory as the last strains of _Piano Sonata No. 14 in C# minor_ faded away and closed the lid of the box decisively, gazing at the smoothly polished wood for a long moment before picking it up and sliding it into the pocket he’d painstakingly stowed inside his haori a few years back. Touching his hand to Tahcikaze’s hilt in an unconscious attempt to reassure himself—one that he would flatly deny if any dared voice that opinion—he headed to the door, pausing a moment to look back at the empty desk set catty-corner to his own and making silent vow that he would see it once again occupied by its rightful owner, and, humming the opening strains of Beethoven’s _Moonlight Sonata_ under his breath, he exited the office to bring his lieutenant home.


End file.
